What Could Have Happened
by Moonbeam7
Summary: An AU to the Green Mile. An explanation of why Percy acted the way he did. Chapter Six is up.
1. Prelude & Old Scars, New Wounds

Chapter One: Prelude  
  
I mopped at his forehead, the handkerchief sticking to the thin, sticky layer of sweat that clung at my brow, and stared at the rim of the porcelain sink, where a few day's worth of my stubble gathered. The confounded heat down here was unbearable, especially on E Block, and I didn't even have a dime to buy something from Old Toot. A root beer or something would've felt like heaven( but( I sighed and resolutely took up my razor again, running down my face in careful lines. Del's execution was getting closer and closer, Percy getting more irritating, and John Coffey was just that- John Coffey, who barely knew his left from his right, and carried healing power in his hands.  
  
Not that I wanted to think about that. I had wished to tell at least Brutal about it, but there was no way the man would believe it, one didn't believe a thing like that, not without seeing it first. I still wasn't even sure if I was certain about it, to begin with. It was certainly an incredible thing.  
  
I wasn't paying attention to what in the world I was doing, and the razor slipped across my face, cutting a thin bloody line on my cheek that stung something awful. I swore, wiping the blood away, and turning the faucets on full-power. The water turned a pale pink as it washed the blood down. I was resuming my shave when a knock almost made me cut myself again.  
  
"Paul," Dean called in, "Wild Bill's pitching a fit again!"  
  
"He's faking it!" I threw the razor down on the sink in disgust, couldn't someone else deal with it? I was busy! "Can't you get him to stop, for heaven's sake?"  
  
"Brutal's trying- but you know it isn't a good idea to get in the cell with Wharton."  
  
"I'm coming, I'm coming."  
  
I slid my baton off my belt, opening the door. Dean, who had looked harried, snickered and tried to cover it with a cough. I was well aware of how idiotic I looked just then, cut standing out sharply on a half-shaved cheek, but I wasn't in the mood.  
  
"Are you going to stand there and laugh, or are we going to go figure out what's the matter with Wild Bill?"  
  
"Sorry, boss." Dean grabbed at his own baton. "How'd you do it, though?"  
  
Another glare silenced him. "Coming or not?" I jerked my head in the direction of the doorway, and Dean quickly followed me. When I got there, Brutal had one hand on the bars, looking at Wharton cautiously, and the man himself was thrashing about on the bed, drool working its way down his chin.  
  
"Brutal!"  
  
My friend spun around. "I don't think he's faking this time. I can't even get near him."  
  
"Dean, run down and get a doctor from the infirmary." I laid my hand on my gun, trying to reassure myself that Wild Bill couldn't really do anything, not with Brutal and I both armed.  
  
Dean nodded and was off in a flash, his hat falling to the floor in his haste. I started to call after him, but he had already vanished.  
  
"We need another man to handle Wharton, where's Percy when you actually want him around?" Brutal muttered, staring at Wild Bill's arching back.  
  
"Called in sick, for once. At least he sounded it."  
  
"Hope he's puking his lungs out." Brutal whipped into a sound lash of profanity at that point that I'd rather not repeat. "Harry? Where's Harry?"  
  
"Not his day, Brutal, you know that. It's just us."  
  
He swore again, finally nodded, and flung open the door. I stepped in right behind him, and together, we pressed down Wharton's back and stopped the fit for a moment. Brutal looked up at me.  
  
"He ain't faking."  
  
Dean came back in at that moment, with his tagalong Doc Jim. Jim took one look at Wharton and gave us conformation- it was a real fit this time. He slid inside as Dean held Wild Bill's wrist and Jim pumped him full of some kind of drug. In a few minutes, we had a team of doctors and nurses in, and they carried off Wharton. As soon as they were gone, I collapsed against the bars.  
  
"You don't look so well yourself, Paul," Brutal noted. "You sure you don't have whatever Percy carried in here?"  
  
"Might." Not that it would be any problem- not with John Coffey on the block. "But I don't think so." I placed his hand on my stomach. The muscles had been all tight there for a while now, and I felt faintly nauseous. "It just feels like something's eating me. Like I'm worried- only I don't know what about."  
  
"You should get some rest," Dean suggested. "We can watch over the Mile."  
  
"Maybe." I straightened myself and smoothed down my blues. "Dean, can you make the report to Hal? I think I'll take you up on your offer. I'll be in my office."  
  
"Right." Dean walked briskly out, and got halfway to the door before he turned around, pulling at his hair. "Hey, has anyone seen my hat? I don't know- I don't think I put it down."  
  
"It put itself down." Brutal pointed at it on the floor. "It fell off when you ran out."  
  
He flushed and retrieved it, then left with Brutal going to the far end of the Mile, looking back at me curiously.  
  
"Are you going, Paul?"  
  
"Oh- that. Right away." I walked into my office and closed the door, leaning against the wood, hoping my profile didn't show up on the clouded glass. The muscles in my stomach had gotten tighter than ever, and I slid into a sitting position on the floor, knees held up against my chest.  
  
I wonder what's the matter with Percy.  
  
I did wonder that, off and on for the rest of the day, what was the matter with Percy. It nagged at me- I knew, or felt, like I shouldn't really care whether Percy Wetmore was sick or not, but I did. I finally left my office and relieved Brutal- and tried to talk to John.  
  
"Do you know what's wrong with Percy?"  
  
John closed his eyes, like he was thinking. "Boss Percy not so bad," he said finally. "He human like everybody else- just 'fraid to show it, tha's all."  
  
Percy and human were not to words that commonly fit together. Let alone "not so bad." Still, John hadn't answered the question, not really.  
  
"Is he sick now?"  
  
"Not sick." John shook his head. "I don't know anything else."  
  
I handed him a peppermint that I'd bought from Del. "Thank you, John."  
  
He nodded absently, as if he had already forgotten what the conversation had been about, and laid back down on his bunk.  
  
"Boss Percy not so bad. He human like everybody else- just 'fraid to show it, tha's all."  
  
What had John seen in Percy? I'd worked with the man for a few months now, and had found no redeeming quality in him. He was a braggart, not to mention a cruel one, and he was- for another thing- obnoxious.  
  
But if John said he was human- then he was human. John didn't have wits enough to lie, and I almost believed he couldn't, anyway.  
  
Yet the man who couldn't lie had killed those two girls. I shook off the feeling. Percy would likely be back tomorrow- he still didn't get paid for sick days, and I could forget about the whole thing.  
  
I played a few games of cribbage with Dean and listened to John Coffey sobbing quietly in the background for the rest of the evening.  
  
Chapter Two: Old Scars, New Wounds  
  
Percy did come back the next day, and he kept his head down and his lips tight, which was a good thing, considering the fact that Brutal had an awful cold and wasn't in the mood for any smart comments or attacks on the prisoners. Wild Bill was back, a little phased from his fit, and he was mostly quiet, too, except for occasional minor misbehavior like him singing out crude songs. Harry threatened him with the restraint room, and he basically shut up. I was glad of it.  
  
But back to Percy. By lunchtime, I was actually a little worried about him, because for Percy not to make cracks at Delacroix was just plain abnormal. He patrolled the walk occasionally, didn't argue when I asked him to go get the meals for Coffey, Del, and Wharton, and when he handed Wharton the tray, he did it carefully, and looked in the man's eyes like he was seeing someone else.  
  
Even Brutal was starting to realize that something was wrong, or he must have, because he finally invited Percy to play a game of cards with him, Dean, and Harry, which he never had done before. Percy sat down, his face flushed and sweaty, but almost milky in some parts. He looked like a dead man, almost, and moved with a mechanical slowness that wasn't like him. As I mentioned before, it was hot on E Block, and most of us had our jackets off, sleeves rolled up as far as we could, and no one had their hat on.  
  
Percy hadn't removed any part of his uniform, and sat there sweating- you could smell the sourness, hat on, blue coat buttoned to the collar, and so clearly uncomfortable you felt sorry for him. Finally, it was Dean who brought it up, eyes intent, and speaking slowly.  
  
"Why don't you take off your hat and things, Percy? We all have- and it's as hot as hell in here."  
  
It was apparently the wrong thing to say, quite the wrong thing. He recoiled like he'd been bitten by a snake, almost toppling his chair back over.  
  
"Percy!" Brutal exclaimed.  
  
He jerked his head up reflexively, realized it, and quickly lowered it. It was too late, though, we had all seen the deep purple bruising that went from his cheekbone right up to his temple. He'd been trying to hide it all day, obviously.  
  
I had been just sitting there watching the game, but when I saw the bruise, I stood up and laid a hand on Percy's shoulder.  
  
"What happened to your face?"  
  
"Nothing- nothing," Percy muttered, shaking his head rapidly, keeping it down. "I'd( ah, I'd better go and see if- see if Old Toot needs any help."  
  
He scurried off almost like Mr. Jingles had, and we four stared after him, card game abandoned on the table.  
  
"Since when does Percy want to help Toot with anything?" Brutal asked. "And where in the world did he get that bruise? The man looks like he came out second best in an argument with a jackhammer."  
  
I shook my head. "I've never seen Percy have so much as a black eye- from anything, and that bruise is worse than any I've ever seen."  
  
"I can think of lots of people who'd want to give Percy Wetmore what for," Brutal admitted, "but most of them are standing here in this room. I'd be the first to hit him, probably, but I swear I haven't."  
  
"So who did?" Harry stared at the door, then turned back to me. "Man alive, Paul, you look like you've seen a ghost."  
  
"I was thinking that I don't want to meet anyone who would hit Percy that hard," I said slowly. "He's an obnoxious little braggart, but he doesn't deserve to be thrashed like that."  
  
"Thrashed?" Dean arched one eyebrow. "Let's not get carried away- it's a bad enough bruise, truth be told, but what makes you think that he was thrashed?"  
  
"Did you ever get a look at his arms- or his chest?"  
  
Brutal bit his lip, realizing what I had. "It's sweltering in here. It's one thing to keep his hat on and face down so no one could see the welt- but it's quite another to keep his jacket on the whole day, buttoned right up to his chin, didn't you see it? He's hiding some others, too- and he never even opens his shirt. Remember, in July, when it got so hot in here? We all had our shirts off- professionalism didn't matter- except for Percy. He kept his on."  
  
I found Percy not helping Toot, but crying in the basement bathroom, head against the mirror, leaning over it so that he was almost face-down in the sink. Surprisingly, I was didn't lose any time in going to him, but Percy didn't even notice me until I spoke, in a voice that I thought sounded oddly gentle.  
  
"Percy- Percy, take off your shirt."  
  
The man cringed. There was no other word for it. He cringed, like he thought I were going to beat him up myself, or something. Normally, I would have gotten sharp with him, but something deep inside of me told me to not say a word.  
  
"No," Percy said, his voice weak.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you, Percy." I took a step closer. "I just want to see what other bruises you've been hiding. I'm your friend."  
  
"No, no, you aren't. You hate me- everyone here hates me." His tearstained face searched for confirmation in my own. I was shocked, but he was right. I did hate him- or had- but(  
  
"Percy." Just his name, and that was enough to bring the man back to his senses, and he slowly unbuttoned his guard coat.  
  
That in itself was enough- Percy's thin white shirt was stained with blood from badly bandaged cuts- he'd probably wrapped them himself- and I gasped, but he unbuttoned it, too, and let it fall to the ground around his feet.  
  
Cuts, scars, and bruises- his chest was covered in them. Even Coffey hadn't had wounds that bad, old or new. A painful, bloody one traced it's way up his side, and some of them still were bleeding.  
  
I swallowed. "Who-?" But that was all I could get out.  
  
Percy came back to life, animated in a rush of horror. He spun around and collapsed against the sink again, at the same time trying to pick up his clothes off the dirty floor, but then we saw his back. I think that was what made me lose my lunch then and there. I could have gone the rest of my whole life without seeing the mess of whippings that had scarred Percy Wetmore's back. I fell to my knees and threw up then and there in the toilet, and when I was finally able to rise, he had everything back on, and his eyes were still red and puffy from crying.  
  
"Don't you tell," he snapped, splashing water on his face to wipe the streaks away. "If you ever say a word about this, Paul Edgecombe, I'll get you fired. I swear I will."  
  
He pushed past me, hand brushing against my shirt. It left a small smudge of blood.  
  
I started to vomit again. 


	2. Same Old Percy?

Chapter Three: Same Old Percy?  
  
"Same old Percy," Brutal growled. And he was right. As soon as he came up from the basement, the first thing Percy had done was snap at Delacroix, who was just looking out the bars at him. He pulled out his chair so sharply it left a mark on the floor, and glared at all of us, bruised face daring someone to say anything to him. And we didn't. The others quickly forgot about Percy's misfortune, but I didn't. After all, they hadn't seen anything except the one welt, and only suspected more.  
  
Percy followed me around like a guard dog for all of that day, only he wasn't protecting me, he was protecting his own secret. If he so much as saw me start to talk to someone, he'd rap his baton against the bars and sneer at me, then come closer to hear what we were saying. I couldn't really think of what to do. As Percy's boss, it wasn't my duty to tell anyone or take any action if someone was beating him up behind the scenes, but as a person- and, as I had said down in the bathroom, his friend, it was up to me.  
  
His antics that day were neither exasperating or amusing, they were sad. I watched almost sympathetically as he shouted and threw his pitiful little temper tantrums. He didn't actually even mean them. I had seen the real Percy Wetmore, and he was that man who had cried in the basement, the one who had tearfully stated that everyone hated him- and been sorry about it. This was just a mask.  
  
The rehearsal for Del's execution was scheduled for the next day, and I was up to my neck in paperwork when Percy finally came in. Gone was the narrowed eyes and cruel smile. He hadn't come to pick a fight, and he made it obvious when he sat down calmly in the leather chair across from me.  
  
"Why did you come looking for me? Or did you just have an urge to explore that filthy bathroom?" His brown eyes looked straight into mine, boring into my skull, it felt like.  
  
"Because-" I paused, struggling for words. "Because you were hurt. I don't know, Percy, you just looked like you wanted help."  
  
He smiled, and I think it was the first time I'd actually seen him do it, or at least a real smile, a real friendly smile. Then his face hardened a little, like a little kid who couldn't quite believe a story, then it twisted again. He looked mean again when he stood up.  
  
"No. No, you're lying. You don't like me- you hate me. You don't care about me at all." He backed away, kicking the chair up against the desk. "I'll call my uncle, I will…" He broke down a little bit, and looked at me. His voice was almost a whisper. "You just can't understand."  
  
"Percy, don't leave." I spoke firmly and grabbed his wrist. "Tell me who hit you."  
  
He gave a cold little laugh. "Which time, Paul? Huh? Which time?" His will crumbled and he collapsed, leaning on the chair.  
  
"I'm not the only nephew that my uncle used to have. I had three older brothers who made my life a living hell. They were all close in age, and I was the outsider. Each night they'd make a game about seeing who could hit me harder."  
  
"Couldn't your father do anything?"  
  
"My father?" He broke out into laughter again, but it was sad laughter. "My father is even worse than my brothers were, Paul! He hated me, beat me- well, you saw the scars. I barely recognized Father if he didn't have a whip or a strap in his hand. Then when Mother got sick, he started drinking, and he just didn't stop. It got worse and worse. My brothers went with him, and they died in a brawl. Mother got better, but he didn't. He just kept on drinking, and he finally left." He shivered a little- but the office wasn't cold. "I stayed with my aunt and uncle after that, and then I found out that Father came back. He met up with Mother and nearly killed her. Then I went to live back with her. He came back last night, Paul, and I had to stop him from getting to her. She would have died- and I told him to go away. It was late, and I had my shirt off."  
  
He buried his head in his hands. "I thought I could handle him now! I didn't know he had a knife! He went away finally- but…"  
  
He was crying again. He was crying and I didn't know how to make him stop, because I'd never thought of anything before like I did at that moment. To me, Percy Wetmore had always been a twenty-one year-old brat who only cared about himself. Now I had another picture, and I knew what John Coffey had saw when he thought about Percy.  
  
Percy had grown up with three older brothers beating on him and a father who whipped him for apparently little or no reason. He'd had a sick mother who couldn't protect him from anything, and once his father hit the sauce, he stayed on it. The man had grown up in fear of what would happen if he was in trouble- which was probably why he was always testing my limits with that odd look in his eyes. He wanted to see when I would snap, how far he could push me. It must be a novelty for him to be able to manipulate someone else for a change- to make others afraid of him… when he was always afraid, too.  
  
That's all he was, really, beneath the mask. He was a frightened child who had never really grown up, not even after all those years.  
  
Percy finally wiped his eyes and straightened up. Instead of getting angry again, he just looked tired, like he had aged ten years in those two minutes that he had sobbed. He looked me right in the eyes, not cringing or flinching at all.  
  
"I want someone to like me, Paul, honestly like me, not just pretend to." I've heard the term "swallow your pride" before, but I think Percy actually did it. He gulped and asked, "Can you help me?"  
  
I took one look at his earnest face- well, as earnest as Percy could look then, the welt that ran down his cheek, and nodded.  
  
I smacked my baton against my hand. "Welcome to the school of being socially acceptable, Percy. Start by taking off your hat. They already know the bruise is there, there's no point in hiding it, so take off the hat. It's too hot for it, anyway." Abashed, he took it off and looked about for somewhere to put it. I snatched it out of his hand and threw it against the wall. "That's lesson number two. Don't be so tidy about everything. Mess up your hair."  
  
"But, Paul-" he started to protest.  
  
"I'm not telling you to make it look horrible, Percy, just to stop smoothing it down. Let it get a little mussed occasionally." He rubbed his hands through his hair until it looked better. "Thank you. Now take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves."  
  
"You saw the blood," he warned me.  
  
"I'll take you down to the laundry to wash it. Just do it, because you won't look so stiff and all." As he did so, I continued. "Stop scaring the prisoners. It won't wash anymore with me because I know why you're doing it now. Act decently to them- I'm not asking you to serve Wharton a meal on a silver platter, just try to remember that they're all going to die soon, and they might as well not go out terrified of you.  
  
"Brutal is probably going to be your biggest obstacle, I'd figure. He doesn't think very highly of you, you know."  
  
"I know," Percy said, looking determined, "but he will."  
  
I would have laughed if the situation had been different- but it was almost sad how Percy was taking it all in and listening to me with a dogged look of determination on his face. Also, Percy didn't like to be laughed at, and I didn't want to test his patience.  
  
I continued:  
  
"Don't suck up. Be honest, be yourself, for heaven's sake, be how you are right now. Try to laugh at yourself occasionally, it won't hurt you, I promise. Remember what I said: you can't go through life thinking that everyone's going to stab you in the back. The men in that room out there are good men, Percy, and they aren't going to bite you. Ready? Don't act miraculously changed or anything when you go out there, okay?"  
  
"I'm ready," he said, "but how am I going to get down to the laundry before they see me with the blood on my shirt?"  
  
"I forgot about that," I admitted. "Okay, okay, button up your jacket just enough to hide the stains."  
  
He did so with a slightly relieved look on his face. "Thank you, Paul."  
  
"Don't mention it, Percy." 


	3. A Change and a Story

*Okay, this one is a little bit schmaltzy. I usually don't buy into all of the "they were abused as children" thing, but I kinda like Percy and needed an excuse. Pardon the deviation from a usual King fic macabre style.*  
  
Chapter Four: A Change and a Story  
  
I watched from the crack in the door to see exactly how Percy behaved when he went in. He presented himself in front of the desk. I was glad to see that he didn't apologize, just said:  
  
"Mind if I take up my seat again?"  
  
Harry blinked. "No- go right ahead, Percy."  
  
"Thanks." My "pupil" sat down and watched the game with interest for a little bit, and when they were finished with the hand, Brutal grudgingly asked if he'd like to cut in. Percy nodded, and played a fair game, not cheating like he usually did. He lost, but didn't make a big deal about it.  
  
Dean started up a conversation on the recent rash of burglaries and the heat it was causing down in the other blocks of the prison.  
  
"We're sort of apart from all that sort of commotion," Brutal said. "The Mile isn't like the rest of the prison- not in the slightest."  
  
Percy frowned in thought. I think he was truly speaking of himself when he finally did say something.  
  
"It's that down there, they know that they're going to get out- most of them, anyway. They have something to hope for, something to wait for other than to die. The days go faster because they don't hang onto them. When up here, every man in a cell is counting the days he has left to live."  
  
He was right, and I still think about that sometimes, about how he was right. The days did go slower on the Green Mile, and you never forgot a day or a prisoner. It was like you were clinging to life along with the rest of them. Brutal had been pouring a cup of coffee at that moment, looked up at Percy, and kept pouring it- right onto the table. Wiping it up, he stared at Percy like the young man had suddenly sprouted a second head right in front of him (and now that I think of it, I don't think it would have alarmed Brutal half as much if Percy actually had).  
  
I think I've mentioned that all of my men were good men- but they each had a character trait that stood out more. Brutal was quickly irritated, Harry was smart, Percy was- well, it's probably up to you to determine what Percy was, but Dean was the peacemaker. He smoothed everything over, and he smoothed this over as well.  
  
"That's right, Percy," he said calmly. "That's just what it's like. We hang onto each day like it's going to be our last."  
  
I came out at that moment, resolutely trying not to look at Percy as if I thought anything was different about him. Brutal passed me a few cards.  
  
"What's the topic, boys?" I asked.  
  
"I believe it was death," Dean said placidly. "That and how different the Mile is from the rest of the prison. Percy said it was because we clung to life here."  
  
Brutal shot me a quizzical look. I read the message in his eyes.  
  
Did you chew Percy out or something?  
  
I shook my head a little bit. "That's true. We live on Green Mile time, all of us." Harry handed me a cup of coffee. Nodding my thanks, I explained further. "Each minute is an hour, and all."  
  
"Enough of philosophy," Brutal said. "Let's play rummy, men."  
  
Percy didn't talk much through the hands that we played, just mostly listened to the chatter. I think now that he was unsure of what exactly to say about anything, he just paid up what he lost and took low, safe bets that didn't hurt him too much. I didn't do much in the way of winning, because my mind was on something else- what Percy must have been doing all that time on the block. It was a game of trying to impress us, but he hadn't been winning it, and he stopped playing that one and switched to the power game.  
  
When I ordered him off the block- how it must have stung, to realize that I still had some control over him, still had something that I could hold over him. How he must have felt when he saw John Coffey, the dull achy fear that began in his heart and prompted him to do the call "dead man walking." How much he must be afraid of Brutal, who sometimes hated him like poison and who maybe reminded him of his older brothers, who wanted to hurt him, wanted to hit him.  
  
It might not be something worth mentioning here, unless its purpose is to make your blood run cold, but sometime afterwards, when John Coffey showed me a bit of what his life was like, when he said he was ready to die, I was around Percy a little. And I saw something play out before my eyes- well, in my mind, actually, that chilled me to the bone.  
  
"No, no, please stop!" A whiny voice, familiar but little, so much smaller than it was. "Please, Michael, please don't!"  
  
A hoarse laugh. "Like he thinks I'm not. Itty-bitty Percy, the baby of the family." There was a silence followed by a dull thud- the sound of a fist hitting flesh. "Look, I opened one of the cuts Papa gave him last night! Yuck, get it cleaned up, Bill, before he bleeds all over the sheets."  
  
"Make him clean it up. I don't want to."  
  
Michael tossing a much smaller Percy a rag. Percy who hadn't grown used to hair care yet, Percy who had wild messy brown hair and a pale face streaky from tears. He just sat there, blood soaking into his pillow, and a teddy bear, looking bewildered at what to do with it. Bill- I think it was, though I didn't know who the other one was- backhanded him up against the wall, nearly breaking the little boy's nose (Percy looked about seven).  
  
"Get the blood up, you little idiot!"  
  
Percy mopping at the blood while he cried… There was a silence, then, and I saw that terrified little boy's face morph slowly into a twelve year-old's. His hair was a that of a schoolboy's, matted close to his head with the sweat of either play or work, his brown eyes terrified but no longer innocent and confused. These were the eyes of a boy who understood perfectly what was happening.  
  
"Father, don't, please."  
  
Then I saw a wilder face, a face that almost reminded me of Wild Bill Wharton's, laugh. "You didn't get your chores done, boy."  
  
"I'll do them!" Percy cried, trying to squirm away from his father's grip. "I promise I will- just don't use the whip again!"  
  
"You have to learn, boy! Up against the old stump." And Percy flattened himself against the grizzled tree stump, tiny fingernails digging into the bark to provide an anchor for him. I saw the whip- and old- fashioned horse whip- hit his back and the blood hit the dirt- and I heard the screams.  
  
The picture changed again. Percy looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, and still living in that same little country house. Before, I'd said the innocence in his eyes was gone. Now there was a slight hardness about his features. He was spreading butter on a slice of bread, standing in front of a counter. A bleary-eyed older woman sat at the table, half- asleep in front of a bowl with the remains of soup in it.  
  
"Mother, do you want some bread?" Percy asked.  
  
She shook her head. "Your father will be home soon, Percy. And you know he's irritable when he's been drinking."  
  
But the man who came through the door was more than irritable, he was a sobbing, quivering mass of jelly. "The boys are dead, Lila!" he shouted. "Shot!"  
  
"No," Percy's mother said weakly, kind of clutching at the table. "No."  
  
The man's wandering eyes found Percy, and so did his fist. "Get out of here, you dirty little sonuva-" Percy backed away slowly away from him.  
  
"Dan, don't," Lila said.  
  
"You want to tell me what to do, woman?" He tried to slap her good and hard, but Percy caught his fist.  
  
"Don't hit Mother!"  
  
What followed was the worse pummeling of Percy's life, and when it was over, the boy crawled into bed, crying a little, and finally turned to a cigar box on the table.  
  
"You can come out now, Bernie," he said to it softly. "Father's gone."  
  
As if on cue, an ordinary brown mouse crawled out and settled himself on Percy's pillow. Percy stroked Bernie almost absently.  
  
"We're going, Bernie," he whispered. "We're going tonight, to live with Aunt Kim and Uncle Denny. They'll take care of us."  
  
The last picture was of Percy as I knew him now, hair perfect, stature straight, only the meanness out of his eyes. This was the Percy I'd seen in my office. His shirt was off, and he was clad only in pajama bottoms, standing out in the night, cool air biting at him. A drunk staggered out. I saw the flash of metal, but Percy didn't.  
  
"Go away, Father. You can't hurt Mother anymore, not now that I'm back. I'm just as strong as you are, now. And the others are dead."  
  
The man lashed out with his fist, and Percy landed a punch square in his jaw. He tripped backwards, and his father kicked him in his face, yanking out the knife and slashing up his side. And Percy's thoughts, running through his head-  
  
He's going to kill me he's going to kill me he's going to kill me I'm going to die he's going to kill me after all oh heaven help me I'm going to die  
  
Percy putting on bandages, looking with disdain at the bloodstains on his shirt. He wiped off sweat, winced as he buttoned up the blues over the cuts, and took a long look in the mirror at the welt.  
  
Then he came to work. 


	4. Incident on E Block

*Here we have the replacement miracle for Mr. Jingles, since obviously the "new-and-improved Percy" wouldn't step on Del's mouse.*  
  
Chapter Five: Incident on E Block  
  
As for Percy's new attitude, Dean accepted it at face-value and pretended not to be confused, Harry tentatively included him in conversations and card games, and of course, I understood it perfectly, but Brutal was completely and utterly baffled over it. He walked on eggshells around Percy, waiting to see if this change was going to be permanent or not. It seemed to be, though. I sent Percy over with Del's peppermints, and he even asked if he could give the little Cajun a few extras because the execution was tomorrow. I knew that Frenchman was scared to death of Percy, and Percy knew it, too. He was even careful not to do anything to startle Del as he handed across the nine peppermints.  
  
I think Mr. Jingles was the one that settled the matter of Percy's change once and for all. When Percy handed Del the mints, the mouse scurried down off of Del's shoulder and settled onto Percy's. Percy jerked a little but stroked Mr. Jingles. I didn't know about Bernie then, but I realized there was something about that mouse that seemed to strike at Percy's heart.  
  
"Go on, go on, back to Del," Percy said finally, letting the mouse run down his arm and back to his master in the cell. Delacroix looked at Percy with something short of awe before sitting on his bed. Percy wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and walked away.  
  
John Coffey watched from the bars of his cell, his expression unreadable, but I think he was realizing even then that his predictions about Percy had come true.  
  
Percy Wetmore had changed.  
  
I can't really tell the next part very well because I wasn't there when it happened, only at the very end. Percy and Brutal had control of the block, and Dean and I were downstairs on an errand. Harry didn't even work that day, so it was just the two of them on the mile, which turned out to be lucky. I don't know what would have happened to Percy if Brutal hadn't been there when he was, because Wharton was in one bad mood that night. I think it had something to do with me telling him that if he didn't stop singing, I'd have him thrown in the padded room until Old Sparky was ready for him.  
  
It makes me feel guilty that I might have caused the whole thing. Percy nearly had his larynx smashed that night, and it might have been all my fault. Wait. I'd better back up and explain how Percy nearly died that day on E Block. It was closing in on midnight, and I'd left Brutal and Percy in charge while Dean and I were gone.  
  
Brutal always said that Percy didn't even do anything to Wild Bill, it was just that one tiny little laugh that set him off. Wharton had been acting up all day, and Brutal finally rapped his baton across the cell bars.  
  
"One more noise out of you," he told Wharton, "and I'll make good on Paul's promise."  
  
Percy tried to swallow the little snicker, but it was impossible. I mean, it was pretty funny, even Brutal admitted it. Wharton, however, didn't think so. He glared at Percy and went back against his cell. It wouldn't be much longer, he knew Percy would mess up and he could get him then.  
  
Like I said, Percy had yet to pick up the rhythm of E Block.  
  
Wharton's wait paid off. Percy was patrolling while Brutal did the paperwork. Wharton hadn't eaten dinner or drank anything, and he called out:  
  
"Hey, boss! Can I get a drink in here?"  
  
Percy glanced at Brutal, who nodded for him to go and get it. Obediently (a word that didn't used to fit in with this guard's personality), Percy went off and filled a tin cup up with some water, and held it right outside the bars of Wild Bill's cell.  
  
That slow grin came over Wharton as he reached out and, instead of taking the cup, grabbed Percy's wrist, turned it, and forced him up against the bars.  
  
Brutal was up in a flash, running towards there, drawing his gun.  
  
"Let him go, Wharton!"  
  
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Wild Bill tilted up the cup and let all of the icy water drain down Percy's collar. Sometimes I think I can see it, all those cold drops of water squirming down Percy's neck as he tried to move out of Wharton's grasp.  
  
"WHARTON!"  
  
Brutal slammed his baton against Wild Bill's fingers, and the crack of the bare bones breaking echoed through the room. Dean and I came running in at that moment, just in time to hear Wharton's howl of pain and the sickening thud that followed.  
  
He tore his hand with the broken fingers out of Brutal's reach, snatched at Percy's collar, twisted his face so that Percy was staring inside the bars, and, with one quick snap, slammed the man's neck against the bars.  
  
Brutal fired, without hesitation and in a state of rage, and Dean just froze, unable to move or even to think. I just ran and pulled Percy away. He couldn't talk, couldn't breathe, even. I didn't even see Wharton collapse against the wall, his arm limp from the shot and I didn't hear him screaming.  
  
That's when I heard John.  
  
"Let me see him." His dark eyes bored into mine. "Please, boss, before it's too late!"  
  
Numbly, I nodded. Of course. Coffey wanted to help him. Coffey HAD to help him. I half-dragged Percy over to the bars of John's cell, and he gently put his hands on Percy's neck and started to inhale.  
  
Dean and Brutal stood stiffly behind me, watching the glowing that rose from around Percy and up through John. John kept on pulling out the gnats, finally choked, coughed, and they came up in a swarm around him and finally disappeared.  
  
Percy's chest hitched and rose and fell. Rose and fell.  
  
We all stared. He was alive. Blood dampened his collar and suit, soaked through his shirt, and even still lay on his neck, but he was alive. Unconscious, but alive.  
  
"A miracle," Dean whispered.  
  
"I helped it," John said, looking at me. "I took it back."  
  
"Yes, John," I said softly. "You helped it. He's going to be okay."  
  
John smiled weakly, and lied back down on his bed. Delacroix looked at us through the bars, his eyes as wide as saucers, looking back and forth in the direction of the passed-out Wharton's cell, and John's.  
  
Percy's eyes creaked open. "Paul? Dean? What are you doing here?" 


	5. Lockdown

*Next chapter… I have a reading number of two… plus me.*  
  
Chapter Six: Lockdown  
  
"Eduard Delacroix, electricity shall now be passed through your body until you are dead, in accordance with state law. May God have mercy on your soul." Percy stepped away from Old Sparky where Del sat, sweat mixed with brine from the sponge dripping down his face. Looking at him, Percy unconsciously fingered his throat, as if his own escape from death was so fresh in his mind that he could still feel the crush of the steel against his neck. "Roll on two."  
  
Van Hay flipped the switch, and the surge went straight through Delacroix. The little Cajun bucked forwards, his head flipping back. I think I saw Percy lock his jaw and half-close his eyes, trying to block the view of the dying man.  
  
Don't cry, I willed him. Please Percy, don't start crying in front of everyone, or I might just do it too.  
  
Soon, I was going to have to stop. I'd seen too many men die in that electric chair, seen too many of them cower in front of Old Sparky. I'd stay for John Coffey, and then I'd be out. I owed it to him to make sure that he went out easily, smoothly. Even if he had killed the little girls- oh, I didn't know.  
  
Van Hay killed the juice, and the doctor laid his stethoscope on Del's chest and nodded. Delacroix was dead.  
  
Mr. Jingles was an orphan. What were we really going to do with him? There was no Mouseville in his future. I could take him, or Brutal, or even Percy- yes. Percy. Of all of us, Percy NEEDED Mr. Jingles the most. Brutal might buck, but I'd persist, and so would Dean, most likely. I liked the idea of Percy having Mr. Jingles, and that meant that he would get him. If he wanted him.  
  
"Percy," I said quietly, "what are we going to do with Mr. Jingles? John has him for now, but he can't keep him forever." I kept my voice neutral, as if I hadn't already decided.  
  
Percy bit his lower lip. "I'll take him. I had a mouse- once."  
  
"You've done well, you know." We were alone in the gurney, Dean, Brutal, and Harry had yet to come in with Del's body.  
  
"I hoped so. But Brutal still doesn't like me."  
  
"No," I agreed, "but he doesn't hate you anymore, either. And that's a start, you know. The others like you now. Dean does, certainly, he's so quick to forgive that-"  
  
They all burst in, guns drawn, and faces as white as paper.  
  
"Lockdown," Brutal said crisply. "Wharton got out. Toot slipped him a bobby pin and he picked the lock during Del's execution."  
  
If the three of them looked nervous, it was nothing compared to how Percy looked. I could see him remembering all of it, and I knew beyond knowing that he could still feel that cold water down his back. He drew his gun.  
  
"Where could he be?"  
  
"He's still in here- along with thirty witnesses, us, Van Hay, and the Warden."  
  
"Ask John where he is," I said through my shakes. "He'll know."  
  
Harry looked confused. "Paul, what-?"  
  
"Don't ask, just go ask him where Wharton is right now. Coffey will be able to tell you, just trust me on this one, okay?"  
  
Dean nodded and took off like a shot, Harry following closely behind him, face still confused but willing to go, willing to ask. If only I hadn't sent him. Brutal might have been able to do it, might have been able to make it out, but I had sent Harry, who had been puzzled but oh-so- loyal and ready to face the dangers.  
  
It was the last time I ever saw Harry Terwilliger alive.  
  
The three of us scouted out the rest of the rooms and then joined Harry and Dean in time to hear Dean scream and fire.  
  
I still don't know how Wharton got that knife- probably from the kitchens- or how he was able to sneak up on a seasoned guard like Harry, but he did it, and he sliced Harry's neck from ear to ear. Dean had been trying to talk to Coffey, who didn't understand what he was trying to ask him, and Harry was standing guard, facing away from them. Wild Bill came up from the side, silent like a cat, and plunged the knife in the side of his neck, tore it out, and that's when he sliced it.  
  
Dean spun around and gave Wharton a bullet in the heart as Harry Terwilliger lay on the floor, dying slowly.  
  
"John, help him!" I looked. It was Brutal. "Help him, please, or he's going to die!"  
  
Coffey shook his head, his big brown eyes sad. "It be too late. He dead, boss. I can't take it back anymore. He gone, boss Percy, sir."  
  
"No!" Percy insisted, like it was going to do any good to argue with John. "You saved me, why not him? Why not Harry?"  
  
"He gone," John said. "I sorry, but he gone."  
  
I walked to the doorway, arms stiff and my eyes starting to starting to water. I called wearily into the room where Hal Moores stood, trying to calm the frightened witnesses.  
  
"Hal," I called. "Hal, you can tell them it's all right now. It's all right. Wharton's dead."  
  
There was an excited murmur, but Hal knew me better than that. He just looked at me until I said what I had to say next.  
  
"And so is Harry." 


	6. A Chance to Help

Chapter Seven: A Chance to Help  
  
There wasn't much we could do after that. Harry was dead, we couldn't bring him back. It felt like a big hollow emptiness inside of each of us. Dean's wildness was restrained, Brutal didn't make so many jokes, and he finally let go of everything he had against Percy. I think Percy's pleading for Harry's life changed Brutal permanently. As for Percy himself, he was quieter, didn't talk as much, and was sort of numb. He couldn't reconcile the fact that John had been able to save him, and not Harry.  
  
"He was twice the man I was," Percy said to me once. "But I was the one he could save."  
  
I knew exactly how he felt. There was just a sense of defiled justice about the whole thing. Sure, Wharton was dead, but an innocent man had been killed, too. There was only Coffey left on the Mile now, but it was rumored we were getting another prisoner, Jacob Kingston, a few days before John's execution, which crept steadily closer.  
  
We were on our second game of rummy in a night when I finally asked the question that was on everyone's minds.  
  
"So what do we do now?"  
  
Dean sighed. "There's nothing we can do. I mean, what is there? We can't bring Harry back to life- he's dead. And Wharton's burning in hell."  
  
"Hope he has a special hot seat." Percy slammed his card on the table, causing a loud, echoing boom in the little alcove. Brutal nodded fiercely.  
  
"Percy, that card doesn't even play," I observed.  
  
He swore. "Never mind it. I can't keep my mind on anything for three minutes at a time. I'm out." Placing the rest of the cards on the table, he stood up and started pacing back and forth. It was then I noticed the cut at the nape of his neck, freshly made.  
  
"What happened to your neck?"  
  
He touched it gingerly. "A piece of glass attacked me. Last night."  
  
"Glass ATTACKED you? How did it manage that?" Part of me was worried, and the other part was genuinely curious. It isn't often that your friends can get the back of their neck sliced open by glass.  
  
"It had a little help," he admitted. "The window in front of the house is going to need a little bit of repairs now."  
  
So. His father had come back again after all. At least this time Percy looked better, except for the cuts I could now see- standing out on his arms and one on his jaw.  
  
"What are you two talking about?" Brutal asked irritably.  
  
"Percy getting shoved through a picture window," I answered without thinking, then flushed. I wasn't sure Percy wanted anyone to know about that. I shot him an embarrassed look.  
  
He shrugged. "By my father," he continued for me. "The sad thing is, I think he was pretty sober, too. He didn't walk crooked."  
  
Brutal and Dean looked like someone had slapped them.  
  
"A picture window?" Dean asked, aghast.  
  
"By your father?" Brutal's face was glowing with anger.  
  
"Unless he has a twin, which I don't think so."  
  
Dean threw up his hands in disgust. "And no one has a problem with this? Everyone's okay with Percy getting beaten up? Everyone? Everyone? Paul? Did you know about this?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why doesn't anyone tell ME anything?" he continued. "Brutal, did you know?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Okay, so there's two of us. Now why is Percy's father shoving his son through windows?"  
  
"Because I knocked the knife out of his hand before he could use that like he did last time," Percy answered honestly.  
  
"Last time? When was last time?" Brutal's jaw was hanging slack.  
  
"The day after my sick day when I had that bruise."  
  
"He cut Percy's chest from here to China," I put in, remembering in sickening detail the old and new scars that had covered him.  
  
Dean was starting to recover. "How long has this been going on?"  
  
Percy shrugged. "I don't remember exactly. My brothers took care of it when I was little, then my father stepped in when my mother got sick. I'd say since I was six- but there were sometimes long breaks in the middle, once I moved in with my aunt."  
  
"Well, why didn't you tell anyone?"  
  
"Why? They wouldn't be able to help."  
  
"We can help," Brutal said firmly, and he actually put his hand on Percy's shoulder. "I think this is what everyone has been waiting for." He looked around. "It is, isn't it? A chance to help." 


	7. Making Plans

I know I haven't updated in. well, forever- but when I looked back and saw the number of reviews, I felt really bad- plus I was thinking about how much I hated someone starting a story and then never finishing it. So I'm going to wrap this one up in a couple more chapters.  
  
Chapter Eight: Making Plans  
  
The plan was simple enough, almost unbelievably simple. If Percy's father wanted a fight that Percy couldn't give him. we would show him something that he wouldn't believe. Brutal was all in favor for personally jumping the man and demonstrating the sort of things you learned on E Block when folks like Wharton stepped into play, but I said no.  
  
"That's not fair- he doesn't deserve fair, but he does deserve what we're going to give him. All we need to do is be witnesses."  
  
Dean rubbed his forehead, frowning. "Are you going to bring him up for it, Paul?"  
  
"There are laws against battery," I said. "As long as Percy doesn't know about it, I can handle things."  
  
"Percy's one of us now," Dean protested, still making those little circles with his fingers. "There's no reason we can't tell him- except that he might object, and then. oh, I see where you're going. So he doesn't even have a choice in the thing?"  
  
"The general gist of the thing is that we're going to win this time," I told him. "Harry's death was the last straw."  
  
"Boss?" I barely heard Coffey's voice at first, and then the feeling set in on me as the warm, husky voice spoke again. "Boss Edgecombe, you have to watch out for the bad man. Something bad goin' to happen."  
  
I would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so ironic- Harry dead, Percy getting beaten up, Brutal actually CARING that Percy was getting beaten up, and John Coffey was just NOW informing us that something bad was going to happen?  
  
I could have told him that a long time ago.  
  
Brutal looked over at Coffey as if he was thinking the exact same thing. "We've been through hell and back," he said, his voice rough, like it had been rubbed over too much sandpaper. "There's not much that would surprise me now."  
  
Dean made a weak attempt at a smile. "Actually, I'm still hoping for a girl guard, Brute."  
  
"Bite your tongue. With our luck, she'd help the prisoners escape."  
  
Which made us all look at Coffey, because despite everything, it was still in the back of my mind, how Coffey had healed me, and how Percy had been dying one minute and living and breathing the next. Nervous glances were exchanged.  
  
"And fall in love with Toot," I put in hastily. The recovery was made, and laughter broke out a little shabbily.  
  
"Think Toot can really get a girl?"  
  
I snorted. "Dean, the day Toot gets a girl is the day that. well, the day that the state lets us have girl guards. Okay, bad example, all things considered, but."  
  
Silence broke out again, and there was only the memory of Percy standing there in front of me in the basement, his back slowly oozing with blood. Something inside my stomach tightened and my muscles clenched up.  
  
"So do we do it tonight?" Brutal asked. 


End file.
